


A Funny Thing Happened One Night in Wayne Manor

by ThornyRose42



Series: Toy Soldiers [3]
Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, Cussing, Fluff and Crack
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-04
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-10-22 02:21:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17654207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThornyRose42/pseuds/ThornyRose42
Summary: Something familiarSomething peculiarSomething for everyoneIt's comedy tonight!All Bruce Wayne wants is a Saturday in his pajamas.  The Universe has other plans.Stand alone one shot that takes place during "The Giver" chapter of Toy Soldiers (Late March).





	1. Act 1, Scene 1

The antacid tablets fizzled in the cup of cold water on his desk.  Bruce picked up the glass and swirled the contents, releasing more bubbles.  Once the tablets were dissolved, he drained the glass.  Bruce tapped out two migraine pills before dumping the bottle into one of his desk’s drawers.  The clock in the study clicked in the rare, blessed quiet. 

Of course, Alfred had the flu.  Of course, Alfred, Damian, and Tim all had the flu.  Damian and Tim caught it first, then gave it to Alfred.  Bruce was fairly certain he was also coming down with it, despite having his flu shot.  Duke was definitely coming down with the symptoms, but denied it through his sniffles.

Tim missed a week of work.  Damian missed a week of school.  Both kids were miserable and irritable.  Bruce wanted them out of the house now that they were ambulatory.

Talia was being a bitch, again.  He didn’t know why.  He _did_ know why.  She left about ten messages on his phone explaining why.  Not that he had listened to most of them.  Whatever she needed to say, she could say in person when he was on patrol.

It probably had to do with the current lawsuit that WayneTech had filed against LexCorp for theft of intellectual property.  Normally, Bruce wouldn’t care if someone stole a patent to help other people.  Considering that Lex Luthor was a conniving sonuvabitch who planned on using this for his own, personal gain, Bruce wanted to shut down his operation quickly.  At least his company’s stocks were good. 

Of course, with Tim out, Bruce actually had to attend all of the meetings this week.  He had to bow out of the monthly Justice League meeting to meet with the board of Wayne Enterprises.  He should have gone to the Justice League meeting.  It would have been more productive. 

The doorbell rang.  Bruce was about to ask Alfred to get it, but realized that the old man was currently in his bed, fast asleep.  Bruce groaned, rising from his desk.  He walked out into the foyer, and opened the massive front door.

“Hiya, Mister Wayne!” said Jonathan Kent, waving.  His father, Clark Kent, stood behind him holding a gigantic thermos and a messenger bag.

“Hello, Jonathan.  Clark,” Bruce said with a nod.

“Where’s Alfred?” said Clark as he and his son entered the house.

“Sick.  Damian’s well enough to have visitors.  I’d avoid Tim.  He’s… taking a little longer to get back to his old self.”

Jonathan bounded up the stairs.  Clark smiled and shook his head.  “He’s been asking about Damian all week.  I think he’s itching to go back on patrol.”

Bruce grunted.  “I’m assuming you’re not here for a social call.”

“No, I’m here for a social call and for business,” said Clark.  He held up the thermos.  “Also, Lois heard through the grapevine that Alfred was sick, so she made him some chicken soup.  I hope it lives up to his standards.”

“He’s in his room if you want to give it to him.  I’ll meet you in my study.”

Clark saluted and sauntered towards the servants’ quarters in the back of the house.  Bruce shook his head.  He turned to go back to his office when the doorbell rang again.  Frowning, Bruce went back and opened the door.

Kamiya Addams, Damian’s civilian friend and Snow Ball date, stood at the front door panting and clutching her backpack strap.  The portly girl held up one finger.  Bruce waited patiently.  “Hello, Mr. Wayne,” she panted.  She looked back towards the driveway, then turned and looked at him.  “You have a very long driveway,” she stated. 

Bruce poked his head out of the door and glanced around.  There was no car in his driveway, and no evidence that a car had recently driven in his driveway.  He blinked rapidly in surprise.  “How did you – do your parents know that you’re here?”

“I hope so, otherwise it’s going to get awkward later.  I told my Aunt Toquisha to tell them.  And I called.  And I left a note.  So, I think so,” she panted.

Bruce opened his mouth, closed it, and sighed deeply.  “Where are your parents?”

“It’s kind of a funny story.  See, we haven’t had power at my apartment for the last week because Superman knocked out some transformer in his last epic battle.  So, we’ve been staying with my Aunt Toquisha and her, like, three kids – which means that it’s kind of cramped, and I’m not overly thrilled about it – anyway, Mom’s working for a temp agency since she got laid off from LexCorp.  So, she’s got the car.  Dad’s working double shifts, and Star had to go in to cover for J’Havion because his baby sister’s got the flu.”  Kamiya sighed.  “May I come in?  I have Damian’s homework.”  She motioned to the backpack.

Bruce waved her in.

“Thank you,” Kamiya entered.  She looked around and whistled as Bruce shut the door.  “Nice place,” she muttered. 

“Thank you,” said Bruce.  “Would you like something to drink?”

“Yes, please.  If you don’t mind.”  Kamiya put her bookbag on the floor as Bruce went into the kitchen.  He was going to make tea for himself anyway.  Kamiya began to walk around the foyer, looking at the different paintings on the walls. 

At that moment, Tim shuffled down the stairs cloaked in a big, blue, fleece blanket.  He looked at Kamiya.  He blinked.  “Oh, for the love of – BRUCE!” he bellowed.  “REALLY? ANOTHER ONE?”  Tim extended one hand underneath the blanket.  He looked like an irate, blue, fluffy ghost. 

Bruce emerged from the kitchen holding two mugs.  He glanced at both Tim and Kamiya.  “What?  No!  Tim, this is Kamiya.  She’s a friend of Damian’s.  Kamiya, this is my son, Tim.”

Tim sniffed.  “Oh.  Good.  Your parents aren’t dead, are they?”

“Uh, no?” Kamiya eyed Tim suspiciously. 

Tim snorted, clearing his nose.  “Good.”  He shuffled over to Bruce and took one of the mugs.  “Thanks for the tea,” he muttered before shuffling back up the stairs. 

“That… was… that was for me,” Bruce muttered glumly as he passed the other mug to Kamiya.   

The rapid pitter-patter of footsteps thundered on the upstairs landing.  Jonathan Kent ran cackling as Damian chased him down the stairs. 

“Return my stolen property, this instant, Kent!”

“Nevar!!” bellowed the younger boy as he held a sketchbook triumphantly over his head.  He leapt over the last five steps before running headlong into Kamiya.  The tea flew out of her hands and spilled down Bruce’s front.  Bruce groaned. 

“Oops, sorry, Mister Wayne,” said Jonathan, sheepishly.

“Jonathan Samuel Kent, how many times do I have to remind you not to run in the house?” Clark Kent admonished his son, sternly.  He had heard the commotion and went to investigate.  “Go into the kitchen and get some paper towels to clean this up.”

The younger Kent hung his head and slowly walked into the kitchen. 

“Sorry about that, Bruce.  He knows better.”

Bruce wiped at his shirt in vain.  “I’ll be back,” he muttered wearily.


	2. Act 1, Scene 2

After running upstairs to change his shirt, Bruce went into his study.  He made a quick pit stop to the kitchen to make something to drink for himself and his guest.  Clark had already made himself comfortable in one of the plush armchairs. 

“So,” said Bruce as he sat behind his desk.  “What brings you to my neck of the woods?”  He passed a cup of hot tea to Clark.

“Two things.  One, heard your kids were sick.  Two, Justice League business.  Got some forms we need to fill out and send over to the U.N. for funding, and Cyborg noticed that you haven’t looked at the dossiers on the possible new recruits yet.”  Clark pulled the forms out of the messenger bag at his feet.  He passed them to Bruce. 

“Who, Mas and Menos?  I already told Cyborg to wait until they’re eighteen.”

“Bruce, they are eighteen.”

Bruce rolled his eyes.  “And are currently members in good standing with the Teen Titans:  East.  We’ve already got plenty of speedsters.  If we get two more, Barry will be insufferable.”

“Barry is less of an ass than you think he is.  You know that, right?”

“Entirely debatable.  I’m convinced he has you all fooled.”

“And there’s the paranoid sonuvabitch that I know and love,” Superman smiled as he sipped his tea.  He grimaced slightly.  It was a little too hot. 

“I am not paranoid.”

“Bruce, your contingency plans have contingency plans.  And you’ve got plans on how to take out ever single member of the Justice League.  You’ve tried to almost kill me at least twice in our relationship –”

“And yet we are still friends.  I don’t understand why.”

“Sometimes, me neither.  But it works.”  Superman set his mug on a coaster on one of the mahogany tables.  “Anyway, sign those papers so I can get the Secretary General to stop spamming my inbox.”

Bruce shook his head slightly and began reading.  As he perused the documents from the U.N., Clark rose and started examining the books on the shelves.  A companionable silence settled between the two men. 

“So, what’s the nature of the social call?” muttered Bruce as he reached page twenty of the U.N. funding forms.  It was the same shit as last year, but he wanted to check to see if there were no extra line items. 

“It’s a social call, Bruce.  I stop by, I check in with you, we gossip, our kids play for a little bit… you know.  Being social.”

Bruce looked at Clark from under his eyebrows.  “I know what being social is, Clark.  Why are you being social when I know that your deadline is at 7pm today?”

“I met my deadline early, and I was worried about you.  You’ve got two sick kids.  And speaking of kids, have you recently talked to,” Clark trailed off, looking at Bruce expectantly. 

“To?”

“Dick?”

Bruce scowled.  “He and I aren’t exactly on speaking terms at the moment.”

“Yeah, I remember, and I heard that the point was made painfully clear that you should do something about that.”  Clark shelved the book he was examining and returned to his armchair. 

“How did you hear, exactly?”  Bruce set the papers back down on his desk, picked up his tea, and moved to one of the armchairs. 

“Well, Batgirl bitched about it to Black Canary who told Green Arrow who told Hal Jordan who told me.  And honestly, I’m a little disappointed.”

“Why?”

“Because it seems like the two of you have a much more… genial relationship than you have with some of your other children.”

Fucker.  “And your point is?”

“Talk to your damn kid.  We’ve had this conversation before.”

“Yes.  Last month.  When you were pestering me on patrol.”

Clark rolled his eyes.  “Look, I’m not going to win Parent of the Year either.”  There was a loud crash upstairs.  Both men stared at the ceiling.  “Yeah,” said Superman, “my kid just broke something.  Send me the bill.  But despite my own kid’s stubborn tendencies, a little discussion can work wonders.”

“What did he break, exactly?”

“A vase, I think.”  Clark took off his glasses and scanned the ceiling again.  “Yep, a vase.  Sorry about that.”

Bruce shrugged.  “Don’t worry about it.  If it’s the one that I think it is, it’s a knockoff anyway.”

“White with blue flowers?”

“That’s the one.”

“Huh,” Clark put his glasses back on.  “Any questions about the –”

The doorbell rang again.  Bruce groaned.  “The one day I want to spend all day in my pajamas, everyone decides to come calling.  The fuck is with that?” 

Loud thumping noises came from the hallway.  “I’LL GET IT!” Bruce heard Kamiya yell. 

“Were you expecting someone else today?” asked Clark.

Bruce shook his head as Kamiya’s voice echoed through the manor.


	3. Act 1, Scene 3

“MISTER WAY-AYNE!” Kamiya’s voice roared through the house.  “THERE’S A LADY AT THE FRONT DOH-OR.” There was a pause.  “SHE LOOKS PISSED!”

Bruce rolled his eyes and sighed.  He rose out of his armchair and walked past a smirking Clark.  “Please don’t be Vicki,” he muttered to himself.  “Please don’t be Vicki.  Please don’t be Vicki.”

It was not Vicki Vale.  It was worse.

Bruce double-backed into the study and headed for the scotch.  Clark’s eyebrows rose as Bruce poured three fingers worth and downed it in one go. 

“Talia?”

Bruce smacked his lips and sighed.  “Talia.”  He grimaced and braced himself for round two.

Clark grinned.  “See, that, right there, is why I was a one-woman kind of guy.”

Bruce glared at Clark.  “Lana Lang,” he said bluntly.

“Never slept with her.”

“Diana Prince.”

Clark grimaced.  “Ok, that one… that was a mistake on my part.”

Bruce, slightly vindicated, smirked as he braced himself for dealing with the mother of his child.  Superman gathered his cup of tea and followed to watch the show.

Talia looked as beautiful as she always did, even with a scowl on her face.  She stood alone in the Great Hall, her hands on her hips. Kamiya was nowhere to be seen. “Beloved,” she stated calmly with an undertone of venom, “why was I not informed about our son’s illness?”

Bruce pursed his lips and contemplated how to approach the situation.  Ideally, he should be firm but nonconfrontational.  Fuck it.  It was Saturday, and he was too tired to deal with this shit.  “Maybe because you decided to dump him on my doorstep and then disowned him when he wouldn’t do what you wanted?  Call it a hunch, but I just assumed you didn’t want anything to do with him.”

Clark snickered.  Talia leveled an icy glare in his direction.  “He had influenza.  A rather virulent strain of it, from what his doctor’s reports suggest.”

Of course, she hacked the medical records.  Figured.  “We caught it early, he finished his rounds of Tamiflu, and he’s no longer contagious.  He’ll be back to school on Monday, doctor’s note in hand.  Speaking of which – since you’re suddenly feeling maternal – there’s a dance at the end of the month and they’re looking for chaperones.  Shall I add your name to the list?  I’ll have to let the school know that you are authorized to pick him up, since I don’t have you listed on his emergency contact form.”

Bruce knew that look.  The last time Talia had that look, she had just finished fighting Selina before – yeah, he did not want to actually think about that.  Still hurt, in many ways. 

“I only disowned him to protect him.  I did not realize that you and… Richard would recruit him into your strange little cult.” 

“It’s not a cult, Talia.  Heaven’s Gate was a cult.  People’s Temple was a cult.  The League of Assassins is a cult.  We’re not a cult.”

“Utterly debatable.  And where is your manservant?  Has he finally quit?”

“No, sick too.”  Bruce could feel one of the muscles in his right eye threatening to twitch.  “Are you here to berate me about our child, or is there another reason why you’re disrupting my Saturday?”

“You have not responded to any of my messages, Beloved.  I was hoping that we could –”

The doorbell rang.  “Jesus fucking Christ on a goddamn cracker, why is everyone harassing me today?” muttered Bruce as he stalked towards the front door.  He could hear Clark snorting behind him. 

“And… you are?” The condescension was dripping from Talia’s voice.

“A friend,” said Clark simply.

“Bruce has friends?”

“Oh my God,” Bruce muttered under his breath as he went to the foyer to open the front door. 


	4. Act 1, Scene 4

Selena Kyle stood on his porch in all of her glory, wearing a t-shirt and yoga pants combo, and leaning against the doorframe.  Her hair was pulled up in a messy bun.  “Hey,” she said as she sauntered past Bruce and into the foyer.  “I brought scotch.  If the rumor mill is true – and I’m pretty sure it is – you might need this after the week you’ve had.”  She waved the bottle and winked. 

“I don’t actually drink that much, but thank you?” Bruce responded as he closed the door behind her.  He followed Selina into the Great Hall and nearly bumped into her.  Selina had stopped dead in her tracks and was glaring at Talia.

“The fuck is she doing here?” Selina snarled.

“I was wondering the same thing.  I assumed that my Beloved only adopted charity cases under the age of eighteen.”

Clark’s eyebrows hit his hairline as he took a sip of his tea. 

Bruce ground his teeth.  At this rate, he’d need dentures to replace his back molars before he was old enough to pull from his 401K.  “Please, for the love of God, behave.  There are children in the house.  Actual, proper children.”

“Speaking of which, how’s my favorite kitten?” said Selina as she flopped onto one of the chairs in the Great Hall.  “I missed him at the shelter this morning.  The girls were asking about their favorite helper.”

Talia frowned.  Bruce rolled his eyes.  He really should just start a Wayne family weekly newsletter.  “He’s going to live, I assure you.  Despite his overly dramatic tweets, Damian is fine and will be back volunteering at the animal shelter next weekend.”

“You trust.  Our son.  Alone.  With _her_?” Talia said slowly, as though processing the general idea.

“You had him climbing the Himalayas when he was four.  Don’t judge my parenting.”

“Ooh, shots fired,” murmured Clark.

“Why are you here?” snapped Talia.

“He’s a guest in my house, just like you are.  Now,” said Bruce calmly as he sank into another chair, “You can either play nice while you check on your son, or leave.  Pick one.”

Clark walked over and picked up the bottle from Selina.  “Good choice,” he said approvingly as he read the label.  “Tumblers still in the same place, Bruce?”

“What?  Yeah.  Why?”                     

“I think we should break this puppy open, don’t you?”  Clark shook the bottle as he strode out of the room carrying his empty tea cup in his other hand. 

Talia huffed.  “If we are going to drink, perhaps we should show some decorum and move to the billiards room.”

“Sure,” said Bruce wearily.  “Why not.”  The group moved to the billiards room at the front of the house.  Talia daintily dusted off one of the chairs before sitting on it.  Selina flopped onto one of the couches with Bruce sitting on the other end.  Clark came in with four glasses, pouring a healthy amount for each.  He leaned up against the door, keeping an ear out for the kids. 

Speak of the devils. 


	5. Act 1, Scene 5

As if on cue, two children bounded down the stairs with the subtlety of a herd of elephants.  It did not take them long to track down the adults. 

“Father,” said Damian curtly as he stormed into the billiards room.  “I require your assistance.”

“Ok,” said Bruce as he sipped his scotch.  Damn.  It was good stuff.  Nice and smooth. 

“Please tell Kamiya that this,” Damian shoved a paper under Bruce’s nose, “is the proper conjugation of ‘to be’ in Latin.”

Kamiya stood next to Damian.  “Please tell him,” she pointed at Damian, “that no one fucking cares and that it has nothing to do with his Spanish essay on what he wants to be when he grows up.  Other than an insufferable know-it-all and king of the goddamn world.”

“Language,” said Clark sternly as he took another sip of scotch.  He moved from the door and placed his glass on the fireplace mantle.

“Let me see that,” Talia rose and snatched the paper from Bruce’s hand before he had a chance to process it.  She returned to her seat to read it.  “Actually, you’ve misspelled the indicative first-person plural pluperfect tense.  But otherwise:  yes, it is accurate.”  She held it out for her son. 

“Oh,” said Damian miffed.  He took back the paper.  “Hello, Talia.  Your presence is unexpected.”

“That’s Damian for ‘What the fuck are you doing here?’” translated Kamiya.  “I’m Kamiya, by the way.”  She extended her hand for Talia to shake. 

Talia took Kamiya’s hand.  “Talia al Ghul, Damian’s mother.”

“Nice to meet you, ma’am.  Officially, that is.”

Jonathan came running into the billiards room before Bruce could chastise Kamiya on her language.  He stood in the doorway.  “You liars!  That was way longer than ten, and I know you weren’t looking for me!  That’s mean!”

“We were looking for you,” said Kamiya, “until Damian had to prove his intellectual superiority rather than actually finish his Spanish essay.”

“I could write that thing in ten minutes.  I don’t understand why our teachers waste my time with such trivial issues.”

“Or maybe you don’t know what you want to be when you grow up.” Kamiya put her hand on Damian’s shoulder.  “It’s ok, Gomez.  No adult really does.”  Talia frowned at the nickname, but let it slide.  

Selina nodded from her place on the couch.  “Damn… that’s… accurate.”

“Speak for yourself, Kyle.” Talia’s voice dripped with condescension.  “I’m more disappointed that you didn’t enroll him in college courses, Beloved.”

“He needs to socialize with children his own age, Talia.  I told you that two years ago.”  Bruce could feel the tension headache now.  The scotch was not helping as much as he had hoped.

“So?  Studies show that children who are not academically challenged often become behavioral issues in standard classrooms.  He should be –”

“Mother,” Damian glared at her.  “Is there a reason why you are here?”

“I came to check on you, my darling.  I am glad that you are well.”

“Yes, I am alive and well.  Now that you have completed your errand, you have no further reason to be here.  Good day.”

Jonathan and Kamiya looked at each other.  “This is awkward,” muttered Jonathan.

“No shit,” Kamiya whispered.  “Are they divorced or something?”

“No,” said Selina as she stretched over Bruce’s lap, elbowing him on the inner thigh.  He flinched.  “It’s complicated.  I’m Selina.  Friend of Bruce’s.” She held out her hand.

“Nice to meet you, Ms. Selina.”  Kamiya leaned over Bruce to shake it. 

“Please, dear.  Just Selina.”  Selina settled onto her stomach.  “So, how do you know our Dami?”

“Our Dami?” mouthed Talia aghast.

“Dad?” whispered Jonathan as he went to his father.  “What’s going on?”

“Jonathan,” said Clark as he knelt down to be eye level with his son.  “Remember that talk we had in your bedroom a few weeks ago?”  Jonathan nodded.  “This is what happens when you don’t.” 

Jonathan nodded again.  “Be cool, wrap your tool?”

“Be cool, wrap your tool,” Clark confirmed. 

Just as Bruce was about to shoot a glare in Clark’s direction, a strange thumping noise echoed through the billiards room.  “Shh,” he hushed the room’s occupants. 

“Bruce, what—”

Bruce cut Clark off with another hush as he stood.  The children looked at each other awkwardly.  Talia slowly rose from her seat.  Selina sat up, casting a concerned glance over to Bruce.  After a few tense seconds, the thumping noise happened again. 

“Did you hear that?” Bruce whispered to Clark.

“Yep.”  Clark’s voice shifted into the authoritative tone he used as Superman.

“Animal or human?”

Clark threw Bruce a bitch-face.  “That can’t be good,” Bruce conceded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for not updating on a consistent schedule. Hopefully, I'll be more inspired to write as spring approaches. I'm still working on the other two stories, but am still editing the new additions until I am satisfied that they are of good quality.

**Author's Note:**

> Will not be updated on a consistent schedule. Mostly because Feb-May is rather busy at work for me. Begging pardon for the sporadic posting, as I have on my other works as well.


End file.
